


Reverse psychology

by crayyyonn



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, fluffy schmoopy smut, obligatory vampire fic, phil is a vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:52:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1778059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayyyonn/pseuds/crayyyonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is a vampire and he is <i>not</i> hungry, damnit Barton. ...or is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverse psychology

**Author's Note:**

> While there's mention of a thrall as a side effect of getting bitten (how original, I know), all sexual relations are consensual in this story.
> 
> My excuse for this is that I watched Vampire Academy last night. Also, procrastination.

"No."

Clint pouts. "But Phil," he says. Phil can’t help but to roll his eyes at the sheer amount of whine Clint manages to inject into just two words. "Look at these beauties!"

A sleeve is rolled up, displaying gorgeous, popping blue-green veins, and Phil stifles the urge to swallow. His gums start to itch as he feels his fangs lengthening in his mouth.

"Barton, for the last time, I'm. Not. Hungry."

"But that's what you always say when you're hungry!" Clint protests, and smirks when a rumbling growl sounds from Phil's stomach.

Phil scowls. "Goddamnit Clint, I'm not feeding on you."

"You always say that, too, but you end up doing it anyway when we fuck."

"That's different."

"I really don't see how. You're still biting me and sucking on my blood." Clint moves closer, his steps starting to look more like a stalk than anything, a predatory glint in his eyes.

Backing up, Phil says warily, "That—that's a mark. A symbol of connection. To symbolize how we're connected."

Clint's laugh is low and warm and it sinks familiarly into Phil's chest. "My dick in your ass is a symbol of connection."

"Don’t be crass."

Too late, Phil realizes there's a chair behind him. He stumbles and before he can catch himself, Clint's hand latches onto his arm and pulls. Phil feels the breath leave him when he smacks into Clint. A sudden wave of dizziness strikes and he would have swayed, if not for the solidity of Clint's chest against his.

Clint's scent washes over him and he inhales, filling his lungs with the mix of earthiness and the sharp acrid tang of sweat. This close, he can see the pulsing of the artery in Clint's neck, the rich blood singing out to him. He licks his lips.

"Clint," he warns.

"Phil," Clint replies in a whisper, pupils already dilated. His erection pokes at Phil's thigh. "Please?"

With a groan, Phil sinks his teeth into Clint's neck. Clint's blood is warm and thick, and it tastes like dark rust, with a hint of sweet in the aftertaste. The blood soaks into his starving cells like rain on the desert, heightening his senses until he’s blind with sensation and Phil sucks harder, wanting more of the intoxicating taste and never having enough.

Above him, Clint gasps and sags against the wall at his back, his arms going slack. Phil knows without looking that the thrall has set in. The knowledge rushes blood to his cock, filling it.

Reluctantly, he licks at the pinprick wounds, running his tongue over them carefully to make sure they are completely healed, then presses a kiss on the unmarked skin before lifting his head from Clint's neck. The sight of Clint's pupils, blown so wide there's just a tiny ring of blue left of his irises, makes Phil's cock jump in his pants.

"God, Clint," he moans.

He licks into Clint's mouth. Clint's breath escapes in a whimper when he tastes himself on Phil's tongue. He ruts against Phil, hips moving in desperate and wanton jerks that tell Phil he's close. Reaching down, he cups Clint, moving his hand over the worn material of his sweatpants to draw Clint closer to the edge. His scent is musky with arousal, his entire body is straining for release, and Phil can't help it, he _wants_ , so much.

"Oh Phil. Oh baby. Please, pleasepleaseplease _please_ —"

Sinking his teeth into a spot just above Clint's collarbone, Phil both hears and feels it when Clint's breath hitches on a sob before his body stiffens and Phil feels wetness bloom beneath his hand. He continues to rub Clint over his pants until Clint's body bows away from him in an attempt to evade the touch.

"Stop, stop please!" he begs with a breathy laugh that turns into a strangled moan when Phil doesn't ease up.

"You asked for it," Phil all but growls, though he finally relents. His dick is still hard, so he pushes it into Clint’s hip. “You gonna do something about that?”

Still breathing hard, Clint reaches inside Phil's pants. He palms Phil's erection for a moment then starts jerking him off, strokes quick and efficient with just the right touch of rough. Grunting, Phil rolls his hips in time to Clint’s hand.

"Come on baby, come for me. Come on," Clint encourages, repeatedly running his thumb over the sensitive head of Phil’s cock.

All too soon, Phil is bucking and spilling into Clint's hand with a sharp gasp. Phil lets his head fall onto Clint's shoulder, shuddering as he squeezes him through the aftershocks. The bite is still there, already beginning to mottle and bruise. Later, Phil will heal it, but for now, he presses a possessive kiss on his mark.

Clint maneuvers them onto the couch, and Phil drapes himself all over him the way he knows Clint likes. He presses his ear against Clint's chest to listen to his heartbeat. The combination of blood, orgasm, and gentle fingers carding through his hair makes his eyelids droop and he hums, drowsy and content.

Maybe he should starve himself more often.


End file.
